In Another Life
by aryasastark
Summary: After Jack's death, Rose was left to rebuild her life. And she boldly succeeded in that challenge, Keeping Jack's aging promise. And dying an old, happy women. But what happens when history repeats itself? Past events reveal themselves? Will memory help preserve Jack? Or will it be too late?
1. Chapter 1

Alrighty, So before you get into this story; I'd like to apologize in advance for the poor quality, This is my first ever fanfiction. It's short; I'm aware. But I promise they will gradually become more descriptive and in-depth. I'm still learning my way around, And hopefully you enjoy reading this. I hope you enjoy, And feel free to leave any comments :)

_**Reincarnation** is the religious or philosophical concept that the soul or spirit, after biological death, begins a new life in a new body that may be human. _

It was a fair day. The sun was gradually rising, The sky pulling it into a tight embrace. And the whimsical clouds sprouted across, Shapes of all kinds formed in the tranquil blue sky. The bright, blinding rays shot through the perched window waking Rose from her heavy slumber. A soft groan escaped from her barely parted lips, "Hmph.." She plopped her hand over her squinting eyelids, For a long moment, She lay, The warmth looming in the atmosphere, Constructing around her. The pigments of her cherry red hair becoming an eccentric shade of neon scarlet. Finally gaining the effort to fully get up, Rose rubbed her eyes, It was early morning. A Saturday, thankfully. She exhaled a fragment of a sigh. The apartment which she was now living in was tedious . It was old. Really old. And really worn down. Her mother hated it. And so did Rose. Although, Dating Cal was worse. He was conceited. Rose didn't mind being 'poor'. In fact, She enjoyed the life style. Working hard to earn the nice things in life, Instead of having it all handed to her on a golden platter. She chewed her lip, The silence of her home now scheming in. She finally pulled herself up, The city below her chaotic and lively. It always seemed that way. Day in and day out. The honks of the taxis became a lullaby and the stench of the smoke and the nearby fast food restaurants reminded her of childhood. The long walks in the early autumn. With her father, He would grip her hand. And they would wander toward the park. Afterwards, He would take her to an ice cream parlor, Each day a different flavor. And they would return home right before Rose's mother came home from work. A bitter familiar emotion sank through her, He was gone now. And she still couldn't accept this. It was the most lonely and bare feeling to wallow in. A reminder she was alone. Each day her mother would growl in disgust, _All he left us was his debts._ She never seemed to remember the nice things he did. The flowers he purchased for her. And the dinner dates he would surprise her with every Thursday. He truly loved her. Before Rose could deepen into this train of thought, A loud holler clamped through the city streets. She leaned forward, Slouching onto the window frame, Her vision narrowing as she struggled to pick out the situation. A poor boy plummeted through the swooping crowd of people. And behind him was a shop keeper. There was pushing and shoving. But the poor boy was a bullet. Striking his way through the crowd of people without harming any of the surrounding citizens. Soon enough the shop keeper gave up, His back heaving in exhaustion, And with one last stride of aggravation, His hand curled up in a fist, Slashing in the air. He screamed several profanities before turning back in his pathway, Stomping each foot like a toddler. Rose averted her attention to the poor boy, But to her surprise, He was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_I had the sudden urge to update this story. I think I'll continue on in it. Heheheh. I really suck at Irish dialogue. And Tommy is a reoccurring character; from Titanic._

_ I hope you enjoy, Remember to leave reviews! :)_

* * *

Jack ran, he didn't turn back to see how far away the man he stole from was. He didn't stop to bask in the cheering of some nearby pedestrians.

The apartment he called his 'home' was far away, tucked away from many of the other streets and his mission was to get there, as fast as he possibly could without being spotted by the shopkeeper.

The part of town he lived in was bad. Drug dealers were his neighbors and instead of waking up to an alarm that beeped. He woke up to the spiteful sound of bullets. It wasn't an ideal lifestyle for him or for anyone, but it was better than living on the streets. Especially during the bitter winters or blistering hot summers, and whenever Jack passed by a homeless person, he had to pretend they weren't there, that they weren't staring at him, pleading for food or spare change. He knew, if he let himself look, he would completely fall apart, he knew how it felt to not have a home, to not belong. To worry about where you'd lay your head down at night, to worry someone would mug you for your clothing because you had nothing else.

His running turned into paced jogs before he finally turned to look over his shoulder, he was certain that the man was gone.

Jack began to trudge up a hill, beginning to munch on the apple he stole. He hadn't even planned on stealing it, but when he walked into the shop, the shop keeper immediately commented on his scrawny clothing, how he didn't like poor boys in his market; it made him seem 'gross' apparently. And just because he loved to push the buttons of those sorts of people, Jack picked up two apples. One to throw at the ignorant shop keeper. And one to indulge in on his run home.

Although Jack was poor, he still had enough money to pay for an apple (which to his disadvantage was mushy and soft all over). He had enough money to live on his own, despite his home being located in a very run-down part of the city; he liked to think it was still a symbol of his hard work.

He opened the door to his apartment building; the yellow lights flickered, blemished from the constant use. He hurried up the stairs and opened the unlocked door to his apartment. It was small and cramped and a shoe box. Jack hardly complained though, he liked it. He'd rather have this little box of a home than a huge loft coded with golden statues and priceless portraits. That's far too much responsibility. To live in a home like that, a person would have to stay inside all day because the risk of being robbed was too great and there would be so much to clean, so much stuff to dust that one would have to hire a maid. And that maid might steal or not do her job correctly, so you'd spend your money trusting some lady who might steal a pair of earrings on occasion and you'd never notice until it's too late.

Just thinking about all that work made Jack's brain hurt.

New York was his favorite place, Jack had been everywhere, from the frozen tundra to the humid island of Hawaii but nothing could compare to New York, the crowded streets, the beautiful plays of Broadway, and the nights were never completely dark there was always light in New York. Jack found beauty in everything, he was an artist after all, and it was his job to find beauty even in the most broken scenes.

He slumped down in an old love seat the previous owners had left behind for him, it was tattered and raggedy but he was never home to complain about the couch, Jack could never sit still for long, always jittery and anxious to explore the world around him.

Jack was a drifter, he analyzed everything with great interest but never belonged to a clique of people. He considered himself to be everyone's friend; however, he had never had a girlfriend.

Once, while in France, he drew a girl while at a cafe. She was a skinny brunette, plain features, thin lips, and doe-shaped eyes. She spoke bits of English and Jack found her flowy French accent to be beautiful. She taught him some French sayings, greetings, common remarks. And for months he thought he was falling for her. But she ran off with an old-friend without a word of goodbye or even a notion that she cared for Jack. That was his first experience of 'heart break'. It was more of a puppy love situation, but it hurt when she left. A gaping hole was left, one that would stay permanently.

Picking at the skin of what was left of the apple, he got up and unlatched the lock on his window, pulling it open. Outside, he could see from miles away. To the good part of town, the slopes of endless pavement, large towering buildings, it was a beautiful sight.

He decided he would visit the library, there wasn't anything better to do and maybe checking out a new book would keep him occupied for a few days. Grasping his sketch-pad he headed back outside where the gleaming sunlight danced in familiar warmth.

Jack headed down the hill, in the direction of the library which stood only four blocks away, he strolled along, tucking his free hand into his pocket (it was progressively becoming a bad habit of his) and pushed the library door open.

As he glanced up at his surroundings, a girl caught his eye. Her cherry red hair flashed in his view, he could see her milky white skin, and her dress framed her delicate figure perfectly. His throat had become a dry desert but somehow the palms of his hands were sweaty in perception. She was too absorbed in her book to notice a wide-eyed Jack staring at her, in a deep gaze, the glimmer of her hair shined like the most flawless rubies. There wasn't a care in the world.

He quickly untucked his sketchbook from his grip, making his way around her, toward a bookshelf behind her back, he didn't want her to see him but he wanted more than anything to see her face, to make eye-contact with her or interact in some form. He sat down, lurking behind the bookshelf. He folded a brand new section of his sketchbook, dug out a pencil from his pocket, and began sketching the back of her head. Slightly embarrassed, he slumped down further in his seat. Thankfully, he was hiding in the autobiography section of the library, and there were only a handful of people in the library. Most of them were relied up at the computers reading articles or playing solitaire, the others were too busy flicking their fingers through movie section, examining the dvds with extreme scrutiny. He ducked forward whenever someone took a quick glimpse of him.

"Sh's ay beaut'y ain' sheh. That's a great drawin', do you usually draw strangers?" A thick sarcastic Irish accent slipped outward, Jack glanced up, the palms of his hands slapped down, covering his work, "Who?" He was hit below the belt as a curly haired fellow caught him off guard, "The red head? No! No.. I was just.. Drawing.. I yeah." There was no point in trying to cover it up.

The Irish man who was around Jack's age didn't hesitate to plop down beside him, "Wel' there's no poin' in tryin' teh ge't her, boyo."

Jack shrugged lying, "I just thought her hair was nice, is all. Do you know her name?"

"I'm not sure, Bu' me' name is Tommy. Ti's a pleasure." He extended his hand in a friendly offer.

"It's nice to meet you, Tommy." Jack dropped his pencil into his pocket and shook Tommy's hand, which had quite a firm grip.

"Actuall'y, I heard her name is… I thin'k Rose? Somethin' like that'.

Rose. It suited her. Matching her scarlet rose hair, every strand glowed harmonically, "How do you know?"

"Cuz' her mum is in debt, I think. Pushin' the poor lass to date some Richie man. Everyone enjoys gossipin bout them. Her family just oozes drama" Tommy ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the drooping strands back into place.

"Well. Does she like him? The rich man." Jack couldn't help but to be curious, it was beginning to eat at him and he couldn't confine these feelings.

"Course not! He don't have the looks. Just the green stuff." Tommy found Jack's interest in the red-head amusing, and although it was rude, he decided to play at his heartstrings.

"Is she nice? Do you know?" Jack know sat, his neck inclined, staring at Tommy as if he were a child waiting to hear a story.

"A priss I heard, but that's cuz her mum is, y'know? She's probably not that bad. Her dad died, dunno what happened tho. But I heard he was a round man." There was a sort of friction in the atmosphere now.

"Yeah." Jack clung to the hope that she might have some interest in associating with someone as poor as Jack. But it was disheartening; they were both complete opposites. There was something so familiar about the girl. And even Tommy. A sudden déjà vu tinkled through Jack.

Tommy's eyesbrows furrowed in a sort of confusion and in an aspect, he seemed bothered. Jack couldn't help but to ask, "You okay, Tom? Is it okay if I call you that?"

Tommy nodded slowly, "Tom's fine. An' Jus' a strange' feelin'. Feels like.. what's tha' called.. Daja Vu, yeah?"

Jack's eyes widened, "Yeah, Yeah.. Me too.. I don't know what it is."

"Happens every now nd then. Are ya' new round' here?" Tommy simply brushed off the strange feeling.

"Not really." Jack chuckled; he was somewhat of a recluse. Not necessarily shy, but he wasn't the one who would ever approach a person, "I'm always out and about or locked inside, sleeping or doing something unproductive."

"Well' you needa' night out. Getta know people round here. Cuz, I hate teh break it teh ya, but' that red-haired lass over thar' is outta your league." Tommy felt a smile flicker along his thin lips.

"A night out sounds nice. I don't know any places to go out though." Jack felt a laugh build in his throat and bubble away.

"Eh, well, I dun' go out very often. But I like teh crash the richies parties, nd there's one tonight. A block er two from here, my mates rent out the bottom floor, we hang out there until we feel like headin' up an' crashin' there parties." The more Tommy spoke the more Jack could make out the unique accent.

"I don't.. usually.. crash parties. You know, it causes loads of trouble." Jack was truly tempted.

"They dun call the cops if that's what'chur wonderin'." Tommy said between a laugh.

"I don't know.." Jack was leaning toward a 'yes' but his silent demeanor made him seemingly worried.

"Come'on mate." There was no doubt in Tommy's mind that Jack wouldn't go.

"Alright, alright." Jack finally agreed.

There was an interlude in his sentence, Jack's words were now barely audible, "I.. just ha-" his words were drowned in the silence. The red-head shifted in her seat, leaning forward; graceful and swift as she stacked the novel into her knapsack. A tight coil wrapped around Jack's stomach, clutching around reality and cracking it.

She tied the bag closed before getting up onto her feet, pushing the wooden chair in after herself, she headed in the direction of the main exit. The dress clung against her skin so perfectly, wrinkles from the position she sat in were clearly evident on the cloth. She patted them out, The navy blue sundress fell to her knees, modest and pleasing. The color brought out her complexion, like puffy cream.

He nestled closer behind the bookshelf, Tommy stumbled away, his hands against his mouth trying to smother his hysterical laughter, he had never seen someone so dumbstruck by a girl. He had become a deer in the headlights. She strode past the two boys, she hadn't even noticed them. Or Jack's wide eyes glued onto her.

A buff of her perfume emerged, tickling Jack's nostrils. The smell of the fragrance was enough to have a dozen men chasing after her. He was a sailor, and she was a Siren, lolling her beauty; trapping the attention of one man so easily.

Tommy waited for her to leave, before his hands fell down to his stomach, he shook, roaring in laughter, "D-eh! Your eyes!" He whimpered, swaying as if he were intoxicated.

"Shut up.." Jack shook his head, finally realizing he had made a fool of himself.

If he were to ever cross paths with Rose, he would be cool, calm, and collected. She was hypnotizing, her beauty was noble and her hair curled in beautiful tresses.

Tommy nudged Jack, "Well, mate, I s'pose I should leave yah teh your fanboyin'. I gotta go work.." He seemed to shudder at the reminder, "I'll see ya tonight? The hotel is called Sleek or somethin'. It's grey. N'd big." The Irish boy, lifted his hand before heading out in the same path Rose had followed to the exit, "See ya! 11'o'clock!"

Jack nodded, a husky chuckle pulled out from his mouth as he lifted his hand in a lazy wave goodbye.

There was a sort of residue of embarrassment left hanging, _how could he been so stupid?_ It was as if his tongue grew 2 times its size.

He strewed out of the autobiography section, closing his sketch book shut and waving goodbye to the librarians who he enjoyed to have full conversations about novels and their plots.

As he opened the door, the sunlight was shed onto him, illuminating his surroundings.

The roads were now moderately empty, a handful of couples strolled past him and a huddle of school kids who were too busy being obnoxious to notice they completely pushed their way through Jack.

He whistled a tune, and caught himself thinking about the red-head on his walk home, he would force himself to think about something else. The songbirds or the light breeze that kissed him, brushing against his skin delicately, he forced his mind to emphasis around one of these subjects, he refused to admit that Rose had completely knocked the wind out of his chest. He seemed creepy, and this was completely out of character for him, he rarely even noticed the people around him while at the library.

It had all unfolded so quickly, however.

It was a perplexing series of events, but Jack decided he needed to prepare for the evening which was slowly but surely casting upon him.


	3. Chapter 3

_I had loads of fun writing this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys reading it, just as I loved writing it. Thank you for the review :) And continue sending your thoughts. _

* * *

Jack tucked in an old tuxedo shirt, faded a dirty sea foam color. He remembered as a child his father enjoyed going out to town for certain events, mostly small dining parties with his mother. His mother loved clothing; despite not having much money she made do with what she had. Amongst her favorite dresses was a beautiful, swan-like pearly pink mermaid dress, draped with light creamy whites. As a child, he loved wrapping his small arms around her towering legs before she left, telling her good bye, the dresses fine silk brushed against him; soothingly cold and lenient. The essence of daisy perfume was captured in the material of the dress before she kissed his cheek, pulled herself in the arms of her husband and left for two or three hours; before returning home. Typically with a small bundled pastery for Jack.

But that was then, and this was now. Jack no longer saw his mother. Long gone.

He buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, patting down the wrinkles creased in the cheap cotton. With that, he combed his hands through his dirty blond hair, silting back the uneven, parted ends.

He wasn't quite looking forward to the party; he honestly didn't care very much. But he was glad he made a friend, Tommy the Irish gentlemen he had to fortune to come across in the library. Jack had little friends, but the ones he did have, he treasured like the most priceless, rare jewels and Tommy seemed to be a genuine person, he enjoyed speaking to people like him, friendly and able to build a conversation on anything.

As he slipped on a pair of dress shoes; which were coming apart at the soles he hurried out of his apartment, the door clicked behind him, locking itself.

* * *

"Ergh!" A sound she hadn't intentionally produced muffled out from her lips, which were coded in an expensive lipstick, the shade of rich cherry red printed across her plump lips.

He mother was vicious, lacing a rather expensive dress onto her coca-cola bottle figure, the dress was too small and Rose was surprised she hadn't suffocated against the compressed material. But her mother found a way to force the dress onto her. Like she did with practically everything in her life.

"You wouldn't be groaning like a man if you didn't eat so much!" She snapped like whiplash, striking Rose unexpectedly. When in fact, Rose was healthy, gleaming in health, she had a watchful eye for what she ate and she knew her mother was just spewing venom to intentionally hurt her feelings. And the idea of her mother wanting to inflict this pain upon her daughter hurt more than the words themselves.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled emotionless, the pain of the compacted bust of her dress was nearly gone now.

Her mother didn't answer, she continued to mangle the designer dress onto her.

"There. Wow.. you do look quite lovely when you try." Was that meant to be a compliment?

She nudged Rose away, "Now, get your shoes. Hurry now. Cal doesn't like when we're late and you very well know that." Shutting the bedroom door, Rose was left in her solitude.

Rose half-turned, glaring at the girl in the mirror. Whoever this.. clone was, it was certainly not Rose. The image reflected in the mirror wasn't real. The pounds of make-up coding her olive pale complexion, the hair, weaved into a perfect arrangement. The dress itself costed more money than her mere existence. The area which cupped her chest shimmered black specks of glitter, from the very top there were so many you couldn't distinguish them unless you stood, observing them in a certain angle. Beneath the clumps of flawless glittery gems was a crimson red fabric, which complimented her lipstick perfectly. There was a veil, trailing behind her, a black, transparent material. The dress was strikingly gorgeous. But it was something Rose would never wear.

She curled a strand of hair along her pointer finger, before freeing it, allowing it to spring into place gracefully.

"Rose!" A muffled yell from the main room pounded through the apartment, "Cal is waiting! Outside! Hurry!"

She stepped into a high pair of heels, making her seem much taller and graceful than she actually was.

She cobbled out the door, bobbing in the heels, "I'm coming, mother." She emphasized 'mother' in utter annoyance.

"A man should never have to wait for his woman." She continued to babble on about how unladylike Rose was, pointing out every little detail she didn't like about her daughter.

The two women took the elevator down to the bottom floor, where a doorman greeted them and escorted them out to the limo, "Have a good evening, Ms DeWitt Bukater."

Ruth had no response, bluntly staring at the man as if he were less than her. And she had the integrity to scream at Rose for being 'unladylike'. Being a decent person was much more important than being ladylike. The doorman returned back into the building, he didn't seem to care; he'd become so accustomed to Ruth ignoring his greetings.

Cal stood up, getting out from the car, "Hello, Sweet Pea." He lifted Rose's hand in his own, pressing his lips onto her hand.

"Good evening, Cal." She forced a steady smile. She could feel her mother's eyes burning through her like fire. Pulling herself into the limo she slumped down beside Cal, who continued to hold her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. His hands were as soft as hers; they had never been forced into labor. He had it so easy; if he needed some money he simply requested it from his dying father.

The limo began to drive, heading into the direction of a large hotel where their engagement party would be held. One step closer to her arranged marriage with Cal.

* * *

The room was filled with laughter, overlapping each other. Women and men dancing in the center of the room, spinning in sloppy circles, snorting in hysterically laughter before losing momentum and spinning away; losing balance. Jack couldn't help but to laugh, they were incredibly happy. And drunk. Two things that when they mixed together caused a sense of euphoria and freedom, happiness. The room had a smog jam-packed with the smell of beer, cigarette smoke, perfume and cologne, laced with the smell of sweat.

It wasn't like most parties, children were there too. Smiling and tap-dancing, mimicking their parents and older brothers and sisters.

"Ay, Jack, Laddie!" Tommy hollered, pulling apart a dancing couple to make his way to Jack, "Do you like it?" His voice was uneven, rising, fighting against the drums of the beating music.

"I do! I've never been somewhere like this!" He was surprised the hotel staff hadn't barged in yet, and called the police. Was the room sound proof? "Hey, how come there hasn't been a noise complaint yet?"

"Cuz this floor isn' used during the weekends. This portion of the buildin' is only used during the weekdays, it's cut off from the rest of the buildin'! An' we pay the guards here 600 to rent it out for the night, the res' of the staff and hotel doesn' know" He winked, nudging Jack, as the couple beside them clapped in joy, laughing at nothing but each other. They were silent for a moment, staring at each other in great devotion, gazing at every detail; small creases in their skin, the curves in their lips, the women's hair, and small strands of fly-aways. Although they were clearly intoxicated, it was obvious they loved eachother.

"Oh, hm, that's interesting! I like this." There was so much life, it wasn't like a club or a bar. The closest thing he could compare it to is a Speakeasy Saloon during the prohibition, except it didn't require a secret code. However, the people here were all of mutual friends; they were woven together in some way. Tommy knew most of the people there. "Thanks for inviting me, I'm glad." He grinned goofily.

"No problem, lass!" He was pulled away as a girl grabbed hold of his wrist and swiped him away in a fast-paced dance.

* * *

The exquisite china was lined along the table, the table cloth was a rich fabric; a pungent pigment of dark cherry red. As Rose sat down, Cal pushed her chair in slightly. Ruth had gone off, gossiping. Spicer, who was Cal's body guard stalked around as well. It didn't make sense to Rose, no one was seeking to harm Cal, he was rich and arrogant, but she assumed he was there as show. Another display of how rich Cal was. He carried around a gun, and frowned quite a lot. That was all she knew about Spicer.

Caviar was set onto the table, in a crystal bowl. And wine was poured, Cal didn't hesitate to take a drink.

Cal began to ramble about the taste of it, ordered the wine to be returned. And the poor waitress flushed a bright, embarrassed shade of red.

Rose glanced up at her, flickering a gentle smile, as the waitress began to leave Rose tugged on her sleeve, the girl, who's round, doe eyes were glazed in tears was struck in fear afraid Rose was going to scream at her as well, "It's alright. Just ignore him." Rose mumbled, and from her handbag, pulled out money, giving the girl a generous tip. The waitress's mouth gaped open, "Oh.. I.. thank you." She chewed on her lip before allowing her lips to pull apart in a bright smile. She wandered out to the kitchen, replacing the white wine with a more expensive red wine.

"What was that you said to her?" Cal immediately snapped out.

"I told her to bring us red wine." Her words were sweetened like sugar; she felt her heart pound in fear. He might've heard.

"Oh, you know me so well." He chuckled, Rose gradually felt her heart ease.

* * *

Molly Brown sat down finally, last at the table. Rose heard about her, her mother despised her southern lifestyle and how 'uncivilized' she was. But the fact that Ruth hated her made Rose love her, there weren't many rich people Rose knew about that did what they wanted. She was 'new-money' and many of the upperclass women avoided associating with her. So as she took her seat at the table, Rose saw the shift in her mother's expression from a smile to a scowl. "Hey ladies!" Molly said between a laugh, "Mind if I sit here?"

"Actually I-" Ruth began but Rose cut her off, "Go right ahead, please do!"

"Oh, you're Cal's fiancée? Is that right?" Molly said, her smile beaming.

"I am." She had forgotten that. Everyone knew her as 'Cal's fiancee' not as Rose. She was now someone's fiancée. Not a free girl who acted upon her will. But a women. Engaged.

Rose pulled a cigarette from her hand-bag, quickly lightning it and pressing it between her lips. She felt her mother's cold, bony hands construct around Rose's wrist, "You. Know I don't like that. Women, especially engaged women have no place smoking."

Engaged.

She couldn't breathe. Marriage was being with someone you love. Some would rather die than sign themselves away. And a certificate of paper wasn't going to solve it all. But it was a wonderful way to start. She didn't love him. Would she learn to love someone a spiteful as him? She would rather…

Rose pressed the cigarette down onto the fine china, allowing the electric orange ash to fall onto the table before it turned a lifeless shade of grey. And just like that the ash crumple into nothing. From a beautiful, passionate shade of orange-red. To grey nothing.

She quickly got up from her chair, almost stumbling on the long black train of her dress, "Don't mind me.. I'm going to go see a friend of mine, she's all the way over there. I'll be back in a moment."

Cal didn't seem to notice. And everyone but Molly Brown smiled and nodded. Molly's eyes watched her. Clouded in a deep-rooted concern. A concern she had never seen her mother wear.

Rose casually made her way out of the room, her composure was thining, before she attempted to run, she ran, sobs breaking from her lips, causing her spine to tremble, her back heaved as she couldn't keep up with herself. She fell in the corridor. Kicking off her heels she continued bare-foot. To the top floor of the hotel, onto the roof.

* * *

Jack sat, laying on a bench, he flicked his cigarette, intrigued by the evening sky which glistened in the coat of stars.

His content was disrupted as he heard the door slamming open. It all happened so fast he couldn't prop himself up quickly enough. Someone padded along, heaving in an obvious distress. A women's cries.

He quickly discarded his seat and caught the sight of the girl leaning against a railing, as if she was about to plunge off. And the girl was strikingly familiar, the bright red hair and th-.

The girl from the library.

"Don't do it." His voice called out soothingly.

Her head turned back, as if she were about to pounce. It was her, the girl. She looked drained of life, already dead.

"Come on, just give me your hand and I'll pull you back." He took a step forward carefully.

She gripped the rail, silent before carefully choosing her words. "Stay back! I'll do it! You watch!"

He approached slowly, gesturing to his cigarette to show he was approaching merely to throw it from the building. "No you won't" He retorted simply.

"What do you mean, "No, I won't"? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do, you don't know me! ", She lashed back, anger striking her like a match.

"Well, you would've done it!" He tried to calm her, trying to rebuild logic into her mindset.

"Because you're distracting me! Leave!" She groaned almost, as if she were now conflicted.

"Now I can't. I'm involved. You let go. I'm gonna have to leap around this railing and leap after you." He shrugged.

"Don't be absurd! You'll be squashed before you could even come close to me!" She was now screaming.

"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. It's the worst when you're still alive for a few moments, every bone is crushed. And you can't speak. And you know you won't live. Just lay there as people scream in fear. It would be cold too while you fall." He was afraid he would lose her.

"…How cold?" She half-turned carefully, gripping the rail so hard her knuckles were a sluggish shade of white. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead.

"Freezing. You ever.. um, you ever been to Wisconsin?" He was now leaning across the rail, glancing at her, reading her expression.

"What?" She asked, agitation springing along her voice.

"I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. And a friend and I used to go ice-fishing, you know, where you hol-"

"I know what ice-fishing is!" Did he think she was some stupid soiled rich girl?

"Sorry. You just seem like, you know, kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I, uh, I fell through some thin ice; and I'm telling you, falling off a 10 story building is a lot like that. Except instead of having a chance to pull yourself out of the water. You'd crack against the pavement like an egg." He gestured the busy city below them, from a distance they could hear cars honking and the sound of people.

The exchanged a series of glances. Rose would look down, and then look up at him. Then look down. And then back up at him, pursing her lips in a sort of shiver.

"Like I said, I don't have a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the railing."

"You're crazy!" She called out. But secretly, a hope ignited in her stomach. And a sense of déjà vu. As he spoke, a familiarity breeched in him. As if they were friends in another life.

"That's what everybody says but, with all due respect, Miss, I'm not the one dangling on top of a roof here. Come on. C'mon, give me your hand. You don't want to do this."

She finally stepped up, grasping his hand as he extended it forward, which was pooled in a cold sweat. The evening air nipped at their flesh. Just as her right leg stepped up, she slipped on the train of her dress. A piercing scream plummeted through her lips, "Don't let go please!"

His other hand wrapping around her waist, her struggled and finally pulled her small, feeble figure in his arms.

They stood, Jack held her for one long silent moment.

He plucked at the silence, "Whew, that was a close one. I'm Jack Dawson." And the same exact déjà vu tethered at him, just as it did in Rose.

They held each other so close that Jack could feel her smile against him, "Rose De Witt Bukater."

"I'll have to write that one down."


End file.
